


Lake of Fire

by lizwontcry



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 'cause I know y'all love some sansan, Fix It, Gen, road trip 2k19, some mentions of sansan, still not over it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-19 05:47:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19969027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizwontcry/pseuds/lizwontcry
Summary: Sandor keeps walking, keeps shielding his eyes from the dragon fire, keeps dodging all the falling rocks and debris--he keeps going. Until he stops. Although he's still feeling the pull towards Gregor, Sandor turns around, closing his eyes and hoping to the Gods that he's doing the right thing. Before he can change his mind, he runs. He runs as fast as his surroundings allow. He runs until he gets back to her.Sandor and Arya take a different path on their journey to King's Landing. Instead of an ending, it's just the beginning.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be a "5 times" sort of deal but I sort of ran out of steam, so now it's just a couple of alternate endings. Thanks for reading, and I always enjoy kudos/feedback!

_People cry and people moan_  
Look for a dry place to call their home  
Try to find some place to rest their bones  
While the angels and the devils try to make 'em their own 

*****

_What the fuck am I doing?_

This is it. This is the day, this is the moment Sandor has been waiting for since his fucked up childhood, and consequently most of his life, was ruined by his shitty brother. King's Landing is being destroyed by the mad queen bitch and her dragon, and Sandor can't care less because he only has one thing on his mind.

Well... two things.

As Sandor marches towards the inevitable, he tries his absolute hardest to ignore the smell of the burning bodies. The fact that the smell is quite familiar lately--he can't seem to escape it--is perhaps one of the many reasons why he's so anxious to get this over with now. It doesn't matter how many years have passed, how many people he's killed, or how many battles he's helped win--that smell will always remind him of his childhood trauma, and he's ready to kill the person responsible for it.

_She said thank you..._

Until about seven minutes ago, Sandor's only mission in life was to find Gregor. It's like he's drawn to his dear old brother; he somehow knows exactly where he is, and that's right where Sandor is headed. He doesn't even care about his own well-being in this battle--he imagines that it will probably end in his death. That's okay with him, as long as Gregor dies first. 

Seven minutes ago is when he left Arya behind.

_She called me by name..._

Goddammit, Arya.

With every step he takes he can't stop thinking about Arya and her big gray eyes looking up at him in wide wonder. Why should he feel guilty? It's not like he asked her to join him on this journey to King's Landing. He was fine with her company; she is a good traveling companion, and she's eerily quiet and withdrawn now. They didn't talk much on the road about what she went through when they parted ways (it's a nicer way of saying "after she left him for dead"), but he gets the feeling she's seen more than she can ever talk about. Either way, it's better that she stay behind. Sandor knows she and the blacksmith idiot have something between them, and why should she die when she has more to live for than he ever did? It pained him to see that look in her eyes, and it stabbed him like a dagger when she thanked him and called him by his name. So few people have actually recognized him as a person instead of a dog. 

Sandor keeps walking, keeps shielding his eyes from the dragon fire, keeps dodging all the falling rocks and debris--he keeps going. Until he stops. Although he's still feeling the pull towards Gregor, Sandor turns around, closing his eyes and hoping to the Gods that he's doing the right thing. Before he can change his mind, he runs. He runs as fast as his surroundings allow. He runs until he gets back to her. 

It's simple--he can't leave Arya behind. When they started out on this path together years ago, he was using her for ransom, and that's all she was to him for a time. But she became something else to him, _someone_ else. She was an opportunity for him to pass along some of the things he's learned to survive, she was someone he could tell his stories to, someone he could listen to the stories of and imagine a different kind of life than his own. When Brienne challenged him for Arya's protection, Sandor realized that Arya had become more than just a sack of gold to him. He didn't know exactly what that meant, but he _did_ know that he would fight to the death for her. For the first time in Sandor's life, he imagined what it was like to have a child, and now understood the feeling of wanting to-- _needing to_ \--protect them no matter what the cost.

Goddammit, Arya. 

As much as he wants Gregor Clegane to have the most gruesome death possible, Sandor doesn't need to be the one to give it to him. If he's with Cersei, Gregor is likely to die with her, no matter if it was to the hands of the Dothraki or the flames of the dragon. There are better things to live for--better _people._ And now he's going to find her.

There's no reason why Arya should still be in that room; she should be long gone by now. But there she is, standing against the wall, frozen in place, possibly still contemplating what she's going to do now. 

Sandor has never been so happy to see anyone in his whole miserable life. Not that he'd ever tell her that.

"You're still here," he says as he enters the room.

"You're back," Arya says, and the look on her face makes him feel like an entirely new man. It's relief, it's happiness, it's... something that resembles love, not that Sandor has ever really known what that means.

"I'm fucking back," Sandor says. "Let's get out of here, come on."

"Where are we going?" Arya asks. "You aren't going to kill Gregor? What about--"

"Hush, girl. We're going back to Winterfell. Let's leave King's Landing to the miserable cunts who want to fight for it and go back home."

Arya doesn't even question him about whose "home" in particular they are going to. She nods, and the two of them leave as quickly as they entered. They find their horses and leave King's Landing behind. Their future is, as always, uncertain. But neither of them are going to die today.


	2. Chapter 2

_Where do bad folks go when they die?_  
They don't go to heaven where the angels fly  
Go to a lake of fire and fry  
See 'em again 'til the Fourth of July 

*****

"Go home, girl. The fire will get her, or one of her Dothraki, or maybe that dragon will eat her. Doesn't matter, she's dead. And you will be dead too if you don't get out of here."

Arya, still bloodthirsty, still on a mission, still needing to cross a name of her list (which only has one name on it now--Cersei Lannister), marches past Sandor. She doesn't have time for this.

"I'm going to kill her," she says, and is shocked when he grabs her. They've been traveling together for weeks now and have a mostly quiet understanding. Arya feels more peaceful than usual when they are riding their horses side by side, only occasionally engaging in conversation when necessary. It feels familiar, as weird as it sounds--the last time they traveled together, she wasn't exactly free to come and go as she pleased. But Sandor is mostly quiet, probably contemplating the many ways in which he can kill his brother, and this calms Arya's frayed nerves. They both have a mission, and they don't particularly want to talk about it. Arya respects that. And she is quite sure than Sandor Clegane may be the only person in Westeros who understands her, which is ridiculous seeing their history together. 

"You think you've wanted revenge a long time? I've been after it all my life."

Annoyed, Arya yanks her hand away from his grip. Why is he doing this? Of all people, he's the one who gets why she's here. It's the same reason he is. What's he so upset about? They had a plan. They've already come this far...

"It's all I care about. And look at me. LOOK AT ME!"

Sandor grabs her again, and this time she pays attention. Obviously this means something to him or he wouldn't be so determined to make her listen. She is still annoyed that he won't just shut up and let her kill Cersei while he destroys his brother, but there's something in his eyes now. It's a softness that she's seen only a handful of times, and she knows. She knows he cares about her more than he ever thought he could. It's unnerving.

"You want to be like me?" He cradles her head in his giant hand, his touch warm, his intention kind. Her heart is beating rapidly. Why is this so important to him?

He looks into her eyes, and she sees unimaginable pain in his own. It breaks her fucking heart.

"You want to be like me? If you come with me, you'll die here."

It all flashes before Arya and she suddenly knows he's right. She doesn't want to be hell-bent on revenge for the rest of her life. Maybe she doesn't want to be a queen like Sansa, maybe she doesn't want to be a lady for Gendry, but at least she can find a compromise somewhere. She can be happy. Killing Cersei wouldn't solve anything, she supposes, although it would feel good to slit her throat and watch the blood flow out of her body. It would probably feel even better than killing the Night King. But Sandor is right--she doesn't want to be like him. She doesn't want to let revenge rule her life. He is capable of so much more but he's going to let his hatred for Gregor be his downfall. 

He gently touches her shoulder, and then he turns to leave. All at once, Arya's emotions get the best of her. She can't take this; she can't let him go. He can't leave her behind. They're in this together.

"Sandor!"

He turns around, surprise clear in his eyes. She's never called him by his name before. On her list, he was always The Hound. But Sandor is not the Hound. He is her friend, her companion. Basically her mentor. And she can't let him leave. 

Arya does something she had given up doing a long time ago, something she considers almost shameful, but necessary. She has to get through to Sandor the way he just got through to her. 

"Please don't leave. Don't leave me. Please. I need you. I need you to help me get back to Winterfell."

Sandor sighs, and looks slightly annoyed by Arya's childish temper tantrum.

"Come on, girl, you know what I have to do. It's not a shock to you. Go home, leave me be."

"No. I can't. I won't!"

Sandor comes rushing back over to her, probably to grab her again, but she steps back. 

"He's not even your brother anymore. He's a monster. You know that! You've told me that before, remember? You've told me a lot of things."

That, he has. Even when she hated him and he saw her as a paycheck, they'd have long talks before drifting off to sleep. There was nothing else to do at the time.

"It doesn't matter who or what he is now. He's still my brother. He needs to die, and I need to be the one to kill him."

This time, Arya is the one who touches him. She grabs his hand, and he looks down at her, surprised and irritated and slightly moved by her determination as well.

"We can leave this place behind. We can go wherever we want! We can go back to Winterfell."

Sandor shakes his head in disbelief.

"What in seven hells am I going to do in fucking Winterfell? We just left that godforsaken place. I told you I wasn't planning to come back and you said you weren't, either. I'd rather die in this shithole than go back there." 

Arya uses the one secret she's been keeping for a long time, hoping that it will mean something to him.

"Sansa will be at Winterfell."

She definitely has his attention now.

"Once this is all over, Sansa will claim independence for the North, and she will be queen. I don't know how she's going to do it, but that's what she swears is going to happen. And she wants you by her side. I can be her hand, you can be... whatever you want to be."

"Bullshit," Sandor says. "Why would your sister want me anywhere near her?"

Arya makes eye contact with Sandor and sees that he really doesn't know. What an idiot.

"You really are dumb, you know that? Sansa has loved you ever since you protected her from Joffrey. She keeps telling me over and over how she wishes she left King's Landing with you during the Battle of Blackwater. Gods, it's annoying how much she talks about you. So let's make her happy. Let's give her what she wants."

Arya is amused to see Sandor try to process all this new information. She has a feeling he's not going to deny this invitation now. He looks up at the sky through the hole in the ceiling, to see the dragon once again flying over and spewing fire. Then he glances at the door, probably thinking he can make a quick escape from Arya and kill Gregor once and for all, but... _Sansa._

Sandor exhales. "Fine, girl. Let's get out of here. Gregor will probably die in this dragon massacre, anyway, just like his queen. Go find the horses."

"I think you mean to say, 'Arya, I'd love to sit by your sister's side as she rules the North, let's hurry up and get out of here!'" 

"Will you shut the fuck up? I already agreed to go. The reason why is not important."

Arya laughs, and she and Sandor hurry out of the map room. They dodge the falling rocks, they hide from the never-ending flames, and somehow they make it out of King's Landing alive. As  
Arya and Sandor flee to Winterfell, she feels a sudden release of something she hasn't felt since her father was beheaded-- _hope._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a few more chapters added soon-ish.


	3. Chapter 3

It's day four on the road to King's Landing, and the journey so far has been mostly peaceful. Only a few times have they needed to draw their swords and take out a few well-intentioned thieves and other dumb shits who thought these two were the ones to fuck with out here.

Arya wasn't exactly excited to see Sandor arrive at Winterfell--she was one hundred percent sure he had died on that mountain after his battle with Brienne--but she found herself drawn to him despite wanting the exact opposite. She spent some of her most impressionable younger days with him, and he did teach her a number of valuable lessons, all of which are a part of her now. And like he said, he did fight for her, and to repay him she left him to rot instead of putting him out of his misery like he begged her to. She supposes she slightly regrets that now, although her reasons for doing so at the time were real and valid. 

It would have been easy to completely avoid Sandor--if nothing else, Arya is quiet and sneaky. But she couldn't help but intercept when he picked up his axe from the foundry--and besides, it was a good excuse to talk to Gendry. She could have turned around when she saw him drinking wine by himself up on the tower, but a weird part of her craved his company. So when she saw him leaving Winterfell, she made a quick decision to follow. Obviously she knew where he was headed, and it would be a perfect opportunity to nail two birds with one stone. He accepted her company, and now here they are, traveling companions once again. It's different now, obviously; they've both fundamentally changed in the short years since they parted. She no longer feels like a prisoner in his company, and senses that he sees her as almost an equal, now that she killed the Night King, and can mostly keep up with him during their short battles with the local riff raff. 

As has become habit, Sandor patrols the area while Arya sleeps, and vice versa. Before sunrise, he sits down under the tree to eat an apple he found somewhere along the way. He finds himself carefully considering the sleeping form of Arya, and how utterly peaceful she looks in her slumber. It's hard not to notice how much she has changed since he last saw her, how cold and unyielding she has become--or at least that's what she wants him, and everyone else to believe. He has a sneaking suspicion she has more going on in her head than that stoic straight ahead stare she has. He is glad she gets at least some satisfaction in her sleep.

Arya stirs, and her blouse shifts up on her stomach. Sandor's first instinct is to look away, but he sees something that catches his attention. Scars. She has a lot of scars, some which look like knife wounds, and this feels like a kick in the gut to Sandor. How did this happen? And why wasn't he there to stop it from happening? Of course, it must have occurred after they parted ways. It hurts to know there were things she encountered that he wasn't able to fix. No matter how much time has passed, Sandor still feels like it's his duty to protect her. Which is annoying, obviously, but there's not much he can do about it now. 

When Arya eventually awakens, they talk about the plan for the day and not much else. This is part of their routine now, and Sandor is usually fine with it. His favorite pasttime lately is thinking of all the ways he can murder his brother. Over the years he's come up with a lot of different scenarios, so he can be prepared for anything once he encounters Gregor. But now he can't stop thinking about how Arya got those scars. He wants to ask her about them, but he doesn't want to change their dynamic too much. Obviously Arya doesn't want to make small talk about her rough experiences on the road. She has other things on her mind. While he mostly respects this about her, this is not one of those times.

As they ride side by side, each in their own head, Sandor decides to break the silence.

"Tell me about what happened when you left me behind," Sandor says, hating that he couldn't even bring it up naturally in a conversation instead of just blurting it out.

Arya obviously looks annoyed, more so that he is even talking at all, much less asking her intrusive questions.

"Why do you care?"

"I don't fucking care, I'm trying to make conversation," he says, which is a total fucking lie and they both know it.

"Then why'd you ask? Can we just ride, please?" 

"Fine," he grunts. 

It's not a minute later when she says, "Why are you suddenly so curious? You haven't asked before."

Sandor coughs, not wanting to admit that he was looking at her way too closely.

"That's not an answer..."

"When you were sleeping, I saw your scars," he says quietly. He never really says anything quietly, so this gets Arya's attention.

"And you were looking at me while I was sleeping because you're a disgusting perverted old fuck?" Arya spits out, looking about as annoyed as Sandor expected.

"Don't flatter yourself, girl. I wouldn't be caught dead sparing one thought about your body," Sandor says, trying to sound equally as bothered. "I happened to be looking in that direction, is all."

Arya doesn't respond. In fact, they don't speak for what seems like a long time, which suits Sandor just fine.

"I just... don't like to talk about it much," Arya finally says, with a kind of sadness in her voice that Sandor doesn't often hear. 

"Aye, you don't have to tell me," Sandor replies, trying to make his voice softer so it matched hers.

Arya nods. Sandor waits.

"Have you ever heard of the House of Black and White?" 

"Aye, I have. Something about faceless men or some shit?" 

"Yes... something like that. When I left you on the mountain, it wasn't because I wanted you to die. I wanted my freedom more than I wanted to kill you. I know it doesn't exactly make sense, but it did to me at the time. Before you took me captive--I see the look on your face, but that's what you did so don't try to argue--I met a man from Braavos. I saved his life and in return he gave me a coin and said to come find him in Braavos and he'd teach me how to do what he does. Long story short, when I left you, I walked and walked and walked until I found the saltpans, and then I booked passage to Braavos. They trained me--taught me how to fight while at a disadvantage; taught me how to be one of them. And it was hard. They beat me bloody, and I was stabbed more than once. But I learned a lot before I went home to Winterfell, which is a longer story than I want to tell today. It did hurt, and it did take a toll, but I wouldn't have been able to kill the Night King without everything I went through there."

Sandor listens to her story intently, feeling a strange combination of pride, anguish, despair, and pride again. Arya has been through so much for a girl her age, and yet he knows it was probably for the best, seeing what kind of harm has come to the Stark family over these last years. Now she can defend herself; now she doesn't need protection, although Sandor is always going to feel like he needs to be the one to save her from any harm that might befall her.

Not knowing how else to respond, Sandor says, "I suppose that's why you said you wanted to go to Braavos, that you had friends there."

"Yes... sometimes it's the only thing that kept me going when you kept taking me from place to place to place. I knew I'd wind up in Braavos someday if I was just patient."

Sandor feels that familiar pang of embarrassment and shame once again, but he doesn't share that feeling with Arya. He assumes she realizes how much he regrets taking her for ransom. After spending so much time listening to Brother Ray and his lengthy sermons, Sandor can't imagine doing something so pitiful now. But at the same time... ah, he doesn't know anymore. He needed the money at the time, and at least a small part of him wanted to keep Arya from any danger she might come across while traveling with the Brotherhood, or by herself. It's not a good excuse, he realizes this, but...

They continue riding, lost in their own thoughts. Not for long, though. 

"So you never told me why you came to Winterfell. Why you were with Jon and the Brotherhood at the wall. Why you haven't followed the Narrow Sea to join the Second Sons like you said you wanted."

"Why does it even matter?" Sandor asks, slightly annoyed by her persistent questioning. "I would have ended up right back at King's Landing, anyway."

"I want to know," Arya said simply. Sandor supposes that's fair. 

"Well, if you must know... there was not a maester behind that damn rock you left me on," Sandor says. He tries not to sound spiteful but he hears it in his voice anyway. He knows Arya was on a mission that day, but she still could have put him out of his misery first. "I laid there for a long time--I don't know how long--until a man named Ray found me. Brother Ray. He was a septon, and he took me in, fixed me up, helped me heal. I joined him and his followers for a while. They were building a new sept and needed labor."

Arya looks surprised, and Sandor supposes he doesn't blame her. The Sandor she first met was a lot different than the one she faces now. He's just as shocked as she is that at nearly 50 years old, he found it within himself to change his ways. Mostly--sort of.

"Why did you leave him? It sounds like you found a home there..." 

Sandor winces a bit. The image of Ray hanging from the wood beams still stings harder than Sandor would prefer. "Some rogue assholes from the Brotherhood slaughtered him and everyone else in the camp when I was off cutting firewood. Took their steel, their gold, their food. So I hunted them all down and paid them back by taking their lives. Came across Beric and Thoros. Somehow got tangled up with them. That's about it."

He's leaving some things out of the story. He's not sure Arya needs to hear about what came between finding Beric and Thoros and ending up at Winterfell. But of course, she isn't satisfied with this answer.

"I don't think 'that's about it,'" Arya says. Sandor almost forgot how annoying she can be when she wants answers. 

"Why do you care?" Sandor can't help but ask.

"Because something about you is different. You're like... a real person now. It's odd. We have a long way to go, and I can be very persisent," Arya says. He knows all about that.

Sandor exhales. "Seven hells, you are annoying. Fine... when I was riding with Thoros and Beric and the others, we went to a farm house to warm up and sleep for the night. It was empty; there wasn't any smoke coming from the chimney. They wanted to go in but I didn't have a good feeling about it. It felt... familiar."

"You had been there before," Arya says, not looking at him. 

"Aye, I had been there before. It was that farmer's house. The one with the daughter..."

"The daughter who made the rabbit stew," Arya says, remembering everything about it. "You took their gold and beat the father before we left. I was so angry at you."

"Yes, well..." Sandor doesn't want to tell her but knows he has to. He was thinking of her--and Ray--when he buried the bodies. He was thinking of how disappointed she'd be in him, and at the time, it made him feel things he hadn't felt since his mother and sister died. Long forgotten emotions that took his breath away from the unexpected grief it caused. 

"We found their bodies when we went inside the house. It looked as though the father had killed the daughter and then himself rather than be taken by hunger and the cold. It took me by surprise, the regret I felt by looking at them. I buried them that night."

Arya is looking at him with sadness in her eyes. This somehow makes Sandor feel worse.

"And... Beric and Thoros were talking out of their asses about seeing visions in the fire and wanted me to do the same. I gave them hell about it but eventually I did look into the fire. Just to shut them up."

"What did you see?"

"Nothing at first. But then I saw a mountain. By the wall. Shaped like an arrow. And that's how we ended up going to the wall, meeting your brother and the others, and capturing a wight. I went to King's Landing with Jon to convince that idiot Cersei that the wights are an actual threat." Sandor says. 

"Is that all you saw?"

"No..." Sandor replies, but does not offer any other information. Arya doesn't press him on it. He's glad; it would sound ridiculous for him to say that he saw his brother in the fire. That the fire gave him solace that he would indeed find Gregor Clegane and carry out his mission to kill him. 

"I see. I'm sorry about your friend Ray. That must have been awful for you."

"Aye." 

They ride in peaceful quiet for a long time until they come across a dark, dusty inn hidden by branches and time. The innkeeper is surprised but happy to have company for the night, and does happen to have a room with two beds in it. Arya immediately disappears and Sandor knows her first priority is a long, hot bath. He can take one later. His only need for the time being is a cold ale by the fireplace. 

Arya joins him some time later, her hair wet, but looking a lot more relaxed than an hour before. She sits down next to him and he offers her the mug of ale, which she takes gratefully. This is their relationship now - traveling, drinking, talking. It works for him.

Sandor notices Arya curiously staring at him. He knows he’s in for about 25 questions in a row if he doesn’t shut her down before it begins. Besides… he has something on his mind.

“When we found the farmer and his daughter in that house, I asked Beric why he thought he was still alive after dying so much--what was so special about him that he kept living when all the good people I know died? He didn’t know. Said it was just as much a mystery to him. But I’m sitting here by this fire, drinking this ale, talking to you, and I know why now. And you do, too.”

“To save me,” Arya says softly, and Sandor nods. 

“Aye, to save you,” he says. “To save you so that you could kill the Night King.”

“I think about it all the time,” Arya says, staring at the fire. “All the people who helped me along the way. Syrio Forel, Yoren, the Red Woman, Jaqen… I wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for all of them. I have a lot to be grateful for, and I just… I don’t know. I don’t know what it means.” 

Sandor says nothing. He’s trying to shake off the feeling of undeniable… what is it? Anger, sadness, confusion? She didn’t even--

“And you, of course,” she says, not looking at him. “For saving me over and over again. For showing me where the heart is. For letting me discover the darker side of myself that nobody else wanted me to explore. You showed me how unforgivable the world can be and how to spit in its face. Don’t think for a second that I’m not grateful, even if the circumstances of our journey together was less than ideal.”

Sandor nods a little, not sure what he can or should say. Obviously he's touched. This girl--this woman, he supposes--took down the Night King and managed to save an entire civilization, and he helped in some small way. But he's not going to admit it. He has a reputation to maintatin, after all. 

"Aye. Well. Let's get some rest. Long day tomorrow."

"Yeah. Good idea," Arya says. 

When Sandor rises from his comfortable chair, Arya stands also, and before he knows what's happening, Arya is hugging him. He wraps his arms around her, embarrased as to how much he needed this contact from her, and then it's over. Arya won't even look at him, which is probably better for both of them. But it happened, and they both know it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the canon details may be a tad off, so please let me know if there's anything glaring. Also I like this chapter and I might continue where I left off in the next one. Thanks for reading and rock on.


End file.
